The Dating Playbook

by Farrah Rochon

  Someone had posted a link to her workouts on YouTube in the comments section of the video from the sushi restaurant, and Jamar had immediately watched every one. From one athlete to another, he understood the discipline it took to reach that level of fitness. That was when he realized, if he had to choose between pursuing her as a potential hookup or his potential kick-ass fitness trainer, there was only one option.

  Still, it was damn hard not to stare.

  “Sorry about that,” she said as she approached the food truck. “I had an emergency call from a client.”

  “Not a problem,” Jamar said. “It’s good to know you’re always on call.”

  “Being on call costs extra.”

  “Again, not a problem. As I was saying at the park—”

  “Nah-uh.” She cut him off. “Smoothie first, then we talk.” She walked up to the window and tapped on it before the person inside had a chance to slide it open. “Hi, can I get the super fruit blend with extra acai berries and two scoops of whey? And add a banana to it.” She turned to Jamar. “You want something?”

  Jamar shook his head and gestured for the guy to go ahead with her smoothie.

  She turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him another of those head-to-toe looks that made Jamar want to flex his abs and puff out his chest.

  “So how exactly did I get on your radar?” she asked.

  Before he could answer, the window on the food truck opened and the guy called out, “Super fruit smoothie with extra acai, whey, and a banana.”

  As Jamar handed the smoothie truck operator a twenty, he saw the guy’s eyes light up. He braced himself for what he knew would follow.

  “Hey, you’re Diesel Dixon, right?” The guy angled his lanky frame out the window, extending his hand to Jamar’s. “How’s it going, man? Damn, I miss seeing you in burnt orange and white.”

  “Yeah, I miss those days too,” Jamar said, because that’s what he was expected to say in situations like this. He waved the guy off when he tried to hand him change from the twenty.

  “Thanks, Diesel,” the guy said before sliding the window closed.

  Taylor looked from him to the truck and then back again. She pointed at the truck. “Okay, what was that all about? Who’s Diesel?”

  “I’ll explain everything after you agree to work with me,” Jamar said.

  She held up a hand. “Pump the brakes, Twenty-Three. If I decide to work with you.”

  Jamar lowered his voice, even though the food truck park was relatively empty. “Look, Taylor, it’s obvious you don’t know who I am.”

  “Am I supposed to know who you are, Twenty-Three? Or is it Diesel?”

  “It’s Jamar.”

  “Ah, so we’re still going with Jamar?”

  He hitched his chin toward her phone. “Why don’t you Google Jamar Dixon?”

  With her bullshit meter obviously on full blast, Taylor started typing with one thumb. Jamar leaned forward to get a better look at her screen. He noticed the way her forehead scrunched when the search results popped up.

  “‘Starting running back for the Texas Longhorns for three years,’” she read. “‘First-round draft pick of the Chicago Bears.’”

  “You forgot the most important one—the Katy High School Tigers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I will never understand this weird relationship Texas has with high school football.”

  “It’s a religion,” he said with a laugh, feeling even better about his chances. She was joking with him. That had to be a good thing.

  “Here’s what I don’t get.” She tipped her head to the side, her brow creasing with a perplexed frown. “If you’re Mr. Hot Shot Football Star, why do you need me? The NFL has some of the top trainers in the world. I didn’t even grow up in the States and I know being a player for the Chicago Bears is a huge deal.”

  “Former player. And that’s where you come in,” Jamar said. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were still relatively alone. In a lowered voice, he said, “I want to work with someone who isn’t attached to the League, and the training I need requires someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s one thing to be in shape, but it’s entirely different to be in the kind of shape it takes to play professional football.”

  “Is that your goal?”

  He peered over his shoulder again before giving her a quick nod.

  “And you think I can get you ready for the football field?” Taylor asked. “I mean, not that I can’t. I know that I can, but what makes you so sure?”

  “Because your teaching style is exactly what I need, someone who will push me and won’t be afraid to call me out when I start to complain.”

  “A drill sergeant,” she said.

  Jamar nodded. “A drill sergeant.”

  A hint of amusement drew up one corner of her mouth and Jamar was struck again by how damn lovely she was. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she wasn’t so good at her job.

  But she was. She’d proven that the moment she added one-armed push-ups to those burpees. His physical attraction to Taylor Powell would have to take a back seat.

  Lizzo’s “Good As Hell” blasted from her phone.

  She looked at the screen. “Oh, shit. Can you hold this?” She shoved her smoothie at him and used both hands to peck at the phone. “Sorry, one of my regulars needs to move up our training session.” She slipped her phone into a side pocket on her camouflage-print workout leggings and lifted her smoothie from his fingers. “I need to go.”

  “What about what we just discussed? Are you willing to take me on as a client?”

  “Are you for real?” she asked. “I mean, for real for real?”

  “Do you know how many gyms I passed on my way down here, just to take your class?” he said. “I promise, I’m for real.”

  “All the way down from where?”

  “Georgetown.”

  She grimaced. “Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t drive all the way out from Georgetown just to hit on someone.” She gave him another of those quick perusals. “You don’t look that desperate.”

  “For a date? No. For a trainer I believe in? Yes, I’m desperate.”

  “Be careful there, Twenty-Three. My rate is based on a sliding scale. The more desperate you are, the more that price slides upward,” she said in a teasing voice. She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked down at it again. “I really have to go. Can we talk about this another day?”

  “Tomorrow?” he asked. “I need to start training as soon as possible. Should we meet here? I can buy you another smoothie.”

  “You said you’re up in Georgetown, right?” she asked. Jamar nodded. “I’ve been meaning to make an IKEA run. How about I meet you halfway? There’s a Starbucks at the outlet mall in Round Rock that’s near IKEA. Does that work for you?”

  If he wrote up a list of places where he would run into the most Texas Longhorns fans, Texas Memorial Stadium would be at the top. A Starbucks near an outlet mall would be second.

  “Would you mind if we met someplace else? There’s a little café not too far from the outlet mall.” He held up the business card she’d handed him back at Zilker Park. “Is this a good number to text you with the name and directions to the café?”

  She nodded, but then her eyes narrowed once more. “You’d better be legit, Twenty-Three. I don’t want you wasting my time.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “I don’t have any time to waste, yours or mine.”

  He walked back to the smoothie truck and rapped on the window. He handed the guy a ten this time. “She’ll take another smoothie to go.” He turned back to Taylor. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Taylor pulled into a parking spot next to a sky-blue minivan parked at the far end of the aisle, a good distance away from any other vehicle. She got out of her car and met a grinning Melonie Phillips standing at the rear of the minivan.

  “I see you’re taking advantage of some of the tips I taught you,�
� Taylor said in greeting. “Did you even look for a closer parking space?”

  “Nope.” Melonie held up her wrist, showcasing the fitness tracker she’d purchased at Taylor’s insistence when they began working together this past summer. “I upped my daily goal to twelve thousand. It’s not as easy to get in those extra two thousand steps as I thought it would be. I’ve had to get creative.”

  “You’d be surprised at how many steps you can get in by adjusting your routine just a little bit here and there. One of my favorite tips is to keep the TV remote next to the TV instead of on the couch or bedside table. I can almost guarantee you’ll get another few hundred steps going back and forth to flip channels.” Taylor gestured toward the grocery store and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to shopping. I’m excited to see what you’ve come up with as a sensible meal plan.”

  Once in the store, she followed Melonie to the produce department, observing as she loaded up on leafy greens, colorful bell peppers, and broccoli. When she reached for a bag of russet potatoes, Taylor stopped her.

  “If you’re going to have potatoes, which I recommend limiting as much as possible, go for sweet potatoes.”

  “Really? I would have thought sweet potatoes had more sugar.”

  “They do, but they’re also much higher in vitamin A. With your family’s history of eye disease, they’re the smarter choice. Better yet,” she said, reaching for a butternut squash, “go half sweet potatoes, half squash, whether you’re roasting or mashing them. It will lessen the carbs and sugar and you won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  A grateful smile lit up Melonie’s face. “This is the kind of advice I was hoping for when I hired you. It’s all so much to keep track of, especially with three kids to run after. I swear, Taylor, you have been a godsend.”

  Melonie’s praise was the kind of validation Taylor’s battered ego had been thirsting for. Screw all those people who thought she needed a degree to do her job. She had as much fitness and nutrition knowledge as anyone she’d come across. She studied her ass off, making sure to learn as much as she could, determined to provide her clients with the most up-to-date advice.

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Taylor said. “Remember, this is a partnership. How much weight have you lost since July?”

  “Twenty-two pounds.” Melonie preened. “I cannot wait for my ex and his new fiancée to drive down from Omaha in a couple of weeks to pick up the kids. I bought a new pair of jeans that make my ass look amazing. I want him salivating.”

  “Now that is the kind of vindication I live for.” Taylor held her hand up for a high five. “Gimme some!”

  They slapped palms, then migrated to the meat department, picking out lean cuts of beef and protein-rich salmon. By the time they were done shopping, Taylor couldn’t stop herself from beaming like a proud mama.

  “You did a great job, Mel. You ready to do it again next week?”

  “That would be wonderful, but…” Melonie trailed off, her lips tilting downward in an apologetic frown.

  A sinking feeling immediately settled in the pit of Taylor’s stomach. “But…?” she asked.

  “I found out last week that Avery, my middle daughter, needs braces. I have to sacrifice something to cover the dental bill, and unfortunately, that something is having a private fitness and nutrition coach.”

  No! God, please. She couldn’t lose one of her few steady clients.

  “Are you sure?” Taylor asked. “Maybe we can negotiate a new rate?”

  “You’ve been a great help, Taylor, but I just can’t justify this expense any longer.”

  Taylor knew she shouldn’t allow her disappointment to show, but dammit, this sucked.

  Melonie placed a hand on her forearm. “I’m forever grateful for everything you’ve taught me. It’s been priceless.”

  Actually, it did have a price. Sixty dollars per session, to be exact. She’d already earmarked the two hundred forty dollars she’d expected to earn from Melonie Phillips this month. Guess her car insurance wasn’t getting paid.

  “I understand,” Taylor said. Because she did. If she understood anything at all, it was having to sacrifice to make ends meet. “We can always start the sessions again if your circumstances change.”

  She gave Melonie a hug and helped her load her minivan with the groceries she’d purchased; then she got in her car and tried her hardest not to burst into tears. Her dad loved to bring up that old adage When it rains, it pours. Well, Taylor was in the midst of a freaking downpour that refused to let up for a single second. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take before she cracked under the deluge of pressure.

  Once home, she found an empty plastic storage container propped against the door, a thank-you note taped to the lid. It was from Rob, her downstairs neighbor.

  She baked when she was stressed—and not any of that healthy stuff like chickpea blondies or chocolate cake made with black beans that she encouraged her clients to eat. Give her all the sugar and butter. But, because she didn’t want the temptation of sweets around, she often shared the baked goods with Rob.

  She unlocked her front door and made her way inside, dropping her backpack on the couch. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of elderberry kombucha from the fridge. She’d become addicted to this stuff, but a couple of weeks ago she’d started limiting herself to a half bottle per day.

  Sacrifices.

  She returned to the living room and plopped down on her couch. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her, as if no matter what she tried, nothing could get her out of this financial mess.

  “You can get yourself out of this. You always do,” she said. But her voice didn’t hold the same conviction it usually did. She felt…defeated.

  She despised this feeling. She’d made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would never allow defeat to enter her mind again. Because once you gave that insidious notion just the smallest bit of leeway, it took over. She could not allow that to happen.

  She jumped up from the couch and returned to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of flour and canister of cocoa from the tiny pantry. She opened the refrigerator to retrieve a couple of eggs, but then she shut it.

  “You do not need brownies.” And neither did Rob. The way things were going, they would both end up diabetic if she didn’t turn her life around.

  Instead of baking, Taylor reached for her cell phone. A group video chat would get her mind off her problems without the added sugar rush of brownies.

  London was the first to answer. She was on her desktop.

  “What’s up, chica?” she said, the bright yellow walls of her office at the hospital serving as her backdrop. It was decorated with cute stick figure drawings and photos of smiling kids.

  “Nothing much,” Taylor said. “I was just calling to check in.”

  “You started looking at colleges yet?”

  Taylor should have known London would bring this up. “It’s on today’s to-do list,” she lied.

  A second later, Samiah appeared. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. It was a bit jarring. Samiah was always so put together.

  “Hey, ladies, what’s up?” she greeted. “What are we talking about?”

  “The twist on Taylor’s new project,” London supplied as she tilted her computer screen up. “Oh, just an FYI, I can’t stay on for too long. I have rounds in another fifteen minutes and I need to return my stepmom’s call before the end of my break.” She shoveled in a forkful of salad.

  “Well, since you have to leave us soon, why don’t we talk about your project,” Samiah said. “How is your search for a hobby going?”

  London had decided that finding a way to disconnect from her stressful career was what she needed the most. Becoming a renowned pediatric surgeon had consumed her every waking minute since medical school.

  London put up one finger as she continued chewing. She swallowed, then said, “The hobby search is…Yeah, it’s going nowhere.
I tried Googling hobbies, but when I typed the H in the address bar, my previous search on hepatoblastoma came up, and I got distracted.”

  “Who has to Google hobbies?” Taylor asked.

  “Me,” London said. “How about if I make sitting on Samiah’s couch and drinking wine my new hobby? I’m so good at that.”

  “Ha ha,” Samiah deadpanned. “Joke’s on you, because that’s actually close to one of my suggestions. I just read about this shuttle that takes you from Austin to several of the wineries in the Hill Country. We can make a weekend of it and stay at one of the cute bed-and-breakfasts out there. Should I book it for next Friday?”

  “Wait! I can’t!” Taylor blurted. Sweat instantly pebbled along her hairline. “I—” She briefly closed her eyes. “I’m not sure I can go on vacation right now. I have to consider my clients.”

  “Can’t you reschedule?” Samiah said. “It’s just a couple of hours away.”

  “I just…” Taylor started. Shit. This conversation had taken the wrong damn turn. “The truth is, I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch. Financially.” Understatement to end all understatements. “I honestly can’t afford to do anything extra, even a short weekend.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to look on the bright side. I could be living out of my car,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Of course, there’s a pretty good chance I will be living out of my car if I can’t pay my rent this month.”

  London’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “What are you talking about?” she asked, leaning in closer to her computer screen.

  “That’s my question too,” Samiah said.

  Well, this had gone sideways in a hot-ass second.

  Taylor massaged her temple with her free hand. Was there anything she regretted more than making this phone call? Maybe stealing Skittles from the commissary back when they lived at Baumholder Army Base in Germany. Or that time when she used bleach to dye her own hair when she was in the seventh grade.

  Okay, so she’d made her fair share of effed-up decisions in the past, but this group call definitely ranked up there.